


Everything You're Meant To Be

by romeonohomeo



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, written by a trans author!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6358849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romeonohomeo/pseuds/romeonohomeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See, Ray picked sharpshooting mainly for its distance. He didn't need to be seen to be good at what he did. No one would take him seriously if they did anyways. Ray wasn't exactly born being Ray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of Brownman

“So you're Brownman?” came a voice Ray absolutely didn't recognize. He whipped around, hoping the other’s voice didn't carry in the crowded bar. He didn't drink, he had no idea why he'd even decided to go there.

He had a reputation. If anyone found out who he was; he was finished.

“What of it?” he muttered, locking eyes with the man behind him. Well, he was funny looking. He was gangly, and had a crooked nose. Ray couldn't help but find him pretty, somehow.

“I'm Midas. You can call me Gavin, though.” he chirped, and stuck out his hand to shake. There was no fucking way this guy was Midas. He shook his hand, and came to realize that Gavin was studying him equally as hard.

“You're a lot smaller than I imagined.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve never seen you, have I? ‘Had to make up what I thought you'd look like. You're not very scary at all.”

“Well that’s bold of you, pretty boy. You're lucky you don't do field work; you'd get eaten alive. I never imagined Midas to be a skinny British twink.”

Gavin smiled, “Geoff’s gonna like you.”

 

Ray left fingerprints in peculiar places. His name became somewhat of a curse among the LSPD. Weeks before meeting Gavin, he’d been hired to kill a mayoral candidate during a televised event.

He’d done it successfully, and now the mysterious “brown man with a pink rifle seen fleeing a nearby building” became the buzz of the city. Assholes, they'd always blame the brown guy even if he hadn’t done it. He’d now earned the moniker “Brownman” from the media and other gangs picked up on it.

He had a reputation now. Ray became a sharpshooter for hire at about 16. The guy at Ammu-Nation sold him a fucking pink gun at the beginning, but he grew to like it. He had somewhat of a mediocre resume, aside from the mayoral candidate. It didn't matter to him, he only cared about getting paid.

See, Ray picked sharpshooting mainly for its distance. He didn't need to be seen to be good at what he did. No one would take him seriously if they did anyways. Ray wasn't born Ray. He'd been born under another name, a girl’s name, and his sniping was to help save up for testosterone shots.

He wore baggy hoodies and wrapped ace bandages or sometimes duct tape around his chest and stuffed socks into his boxers just to feel some sense of validity. Unfortunately, most of his sniping money went towards his unreasonably high rent.

He'd lived in and out of hostels up until he turned 19. This was his first apartment, and his highest profile job. Now, Ray was being approached by the Fake AH Crew’s hacker. He was hesitant about accepting the offer, as he wasn’t sure how well they’d take his gender issues.

 

 

Ray left home at 15 with a backpack full of essentials, a butterfly knife, and the money he’d gotten from selling his laptop. He left in the dead of night when he was sure his family would be fast asleep.

He mumbled a goodbye as he crept past his sister’s room, but she wouldn’t hear him. She would never hear him again. Ray was an outcast in his family, and his sister was the only one who bothered to acknowledge him fondly. 

His mother cried when he first told her and mourned over the loss of “her daughter”. His father was angrier, but handled it with silence.

The sky was tinted pink by the time he reached the train station.

He was getting the hell out of there. The only place he thought to disappear to was Los Santos. Now, Los Santos was a shit hole at the end of his train line and infested with criminals. No one would go looking for him there. Ray wasn't sure how long he'd last on his own. Anything was better than home.

He mugged someone for the first time in the first 2 weeks of his departure. Turns out, money gets low very fast and he needed more. He’d brought the knife for a reason. Some business man lost his wallet that day and Ray felt dirty.

Ray attempted to find a job but it was hard to do, looking as young as he did. He’d held down a job at a gas station for a while, but he quit very early on. It had been robbed too many times for his liking and sanity.

Ray turned 16 alone. He’d lost a lot of weight and looked more tired than he ever had. He missed his sister. She was probably worried. Ray had left a note, but it only explained how he wasn’t planning on returning and that he was going some place they couldn’t follow him.

The first youth hostel he lived in introduced him to drugs. It was an expensive habit, so he tagged along with the addicts in his bunk and stole drags off of blunts. He started off with weed mostly, but it quickly progressed to coke and acid.

The second youth hostel came into play after the first one kicked him (and his druggie friends) out. He tried to replace recreational drugs by drinking instead, but it turned out that he hated alcohol. He needed a job. He still had his knife, so he continued to corner unassuming people in alleyways to support his habit.

It wasn’t enough. It was never fucking enough. He needed more money. So, he decided to learn to shoot. He moved to a homeless shelter (so he didn’t have to pay for his own food) and scraped up enough money to afford a gun.

He practiced in old warehouses with empty cans. Ray spent many an afternoon holed away firing at cans and bottles until he felt confident enough to try birds or other vermin. He was now 18. He hadn’t thought about his family in years. He felt lonelier than ever.

Ray didn’t need anyone. He’d spent enough time ostracized as a teenager and alone in Los Santos to know that he was fine on his own. He wish he had someone to talk to, but it wasn’t too important to him to have friends. It would just be more people weighing him down.

Ray’s first hit was a dealer. His dealer had gotten ripped off by another, and had asked for his services in exchange for goods. It seemed like a fair trade for him. By this point, Ray dabbled with heroin so the urgency was much greater.

It was too easy. His target died instantly and is all seemed too easy. Ray didn’t want to remember the carnage he created. He upped his dose and nodded out for 24 hours. This had to be his life now, he already had blood on his hands.

That’s how Ray came to be at age 20, living by himself in an apartment the size of a closet. Perhaps working for a crew would be better for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did it. I finally started writing that Trans!Ray fic I'd been planning in my head for months. Special thanks to my babe hushedsounds for proofreading!


	2. Black Eyes and Different People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray has a rough morning, but finally meets the crew he's meant to shoot for.

Ray didn’t own an alarm clock. He woke up with the sun. It was somewhat of a routine that held over from his time living in group homes, but it got him to places on time. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, his head reeling.

 

He’d taken Gavin’s offer, and was planning to meet with the crew that afternoon. He still felt apprehensive about the meeting, but Gavin had his number now and there was no backing out.

 

He needed to smoke.

 

Ray didn’t want to go through the effort of rolling a joint, so he dug around for the pack of cigarettes he kept for situations like this. He plucked one out and let it hang in his mouth as he treked across his apartment for his lighter.

 

He made it to his tiny balcony and let his upper half hang on the railing. He cupped the cigarette with his hands and lit it. He took a long drag and exhaled, letting the smoke trail into the air. A familiar warmth filled his chest.

 

That was better.

 

Ray watched the sun rise with brilliant colors letting smoke waft around him. He thought about checking his texts, but his phone was still inside. Fuck it, he didn’t care if he got smoke in his apartment. He ducked back inside. He kept the cigarette in his mouth as he dug underneath his bed for his crappy flip phone.

 

He opened it up and realized couldn’t read for shit. Right, glasses. He grabbed his glasses from his nightstand and flopped back down onto his bed.

 

[Unknown number: Brownman, we’re happy to have you in our crew! I hope Midas wasn’t too much of a pain in the ass. Please bring a rifle of your choice and come alone at 12pm sharp. Address will be sent upon your reply. -Ramsey]

 

He let out another puff of smoke and sat up, typing a reply.

 

[Will do. Midas was alright. -Brownman]

 

He scoffed, remembering the insufferable Brit from the night before. Maybe we has just bad with people? Ramsey acknowledged his nonsense however, so he probably acted differently around the Fake AH Crew.

 

The Fake AH Crew was the up and coming gang of Los Santos. They’d pulled off a huge robbery a month prior, and the LSPD was scrambling to find them. Ray was terrified. Ray was also very excited. His life would have a purpose other than gaming and contract killing.

 

He’d have people worrying about him. Hell, might have people that _cared_ about him. He still had his secret to worry about. Ray knew needed to pass as male for his own safety. If he had a dime for every time he’d been heckled, he wouldn’t be living in as shitty of an apartment.

 

He shook off the memories and flicked ashes onto the ground. An hour had passed since he’d woken up and he was hungry. It was nearly 8 am. Ray would make breakfast, but he rarely had a fair amount of food in his fridge.

 

McDonald's it had to be, then.

 

He grabbed a pair of pants and a tshirt from his floor and went to his bathroom. He wore new boxers to bed, so he would be fine on that front. Ray hopped into his jeans and opened his medicine cabinet, grabbing two rolls of ace bandages. He wound both of them slowly around his chest. His ribs ached, but he didn’t care enough to address it.

 

Ray ran a hand down his chest, turning in the mirror to see how flat it was. It would have to do. He shrugged on a shirt and walked to his front door. Ray slipped on his usual checkered vans and the hoodie he left hanging on a hook.

 

He had 5 bucks and a knife in his pocket. Time for food.

  


As he walked, it dawned on Ray how little he went outside other than to smoke. He was so used to hiding that just going for a stroll seemed out of the ordinary.

 

He spoke too soon. Tires squealed by and slowed down to the pace he was walking. It was a van full of men.

 

“Hey baby, what’re you doing out by yourself?”

 

“Yeah girl, why don't you hang with us?”

 

Ray looked their direction. They looked slimy and his hand slid towards the knife in his pocket.

 

“I'm a dude.” He said, glaring.

 

“Oh hell no, she's a tranny!”

 

He pulled the knife out, flicking it open and pointing it towards the van.

 

“Get lost.”

    

The van stopped, and the men came pouring out. There were about four of them. Oh fuck. Before he could get his bearings, he was slammed into the wall and his arms pinned to it. He received a quick blow to his eye.

 

Ray groaned and saw stars.

 

He couldn't use his knife, and his head was still spinning. Ray had other appendages. He kneed the guy in the crotch, causing him to crumple to the ground.

 

Now another man was coming at him. He grabbed his arm as it came flying towards him and used the opportunity to sink his knife into his stomach.

 

This seemed to give the rest of the men a good shock to the system. He threw the man to the ground and pocketed his knife as the rest of them scrambled to their van.

 

“Psycho bitch!”

 

The van tore away and Ray darted to the nearest alley. The police wouldn't be far behind. He winced, the adrenaline wearing off and his injuries coming into focus.

 

He'd managed to escape with a only a black eye. He prayed his cheekbone wasn't broken.

 

Ray climbed the fire escape from the alley up the building adjacent to him. He'd just hop the building and keep walking. He reached the top and ducked upon seeing police cars starting to swarm below him.

 

He shimmied his way down the other fire escape and dropped to the ground. He put his hood up and kept walking as he intended.

 

Ray’s heart was still racing as he stood in line at McDonald’s. He just wanted chicken nuggets, not another dead person on his conscience. They probably didn't even have nuggets this early.

 

It occurred to him he'd never killed anyone up close. That's why he felt so shaken. He sniped, he didn't really do hand to hand combat.

 

He felt kind of sick, but took his weird egg sandwich and started on his way home.

 

It was now nearing 9:30 and Ray planned to spend the next 2 hours blowing off steam via video games.

 

He plopped down on his couch and took a bite of his sandwich while his xbox booted up. He grabbed a controller and flicked through the multitude of (stolen) games he had.

 

He loaded up some first person shooter and kept eating. He was still reeling from the incident earlier. His fingers moved quickly and shakily along his controller.

 

Ray felt like he was on autopilot, just going through the motions so everything felt okay. He wasn't very hungry anymore. He was biting the inside of his cheek.

 

There was still blood on his knife, probably. He hoped there wasn't any on his pants. He made a mental note to clean both.

 

Snipers didn't watch people die this closely. He'd blown stranger’s brains out through a tiny scope but he'd never felt flesh tear before. He'd never heard someone’s last breath at his feet.

 

He'd never made it personal.

 

Ray paused his game. He couldn't focus enough for the time being.

 

He spent the following hour and a half doing whatever he could to stay occupied. He tried to beat his own score in mario kart, he tidied up his room, and he checked to see if his rifle had sufficient ammo.

 

He still had this “job interview” to worry about, so getting high was out of the question. He’d do it when he came home. Ray pulled his phone back out to read the address Ramsey had sent that morning.

 

Somehow, Ray hailed a cab with his rifle in full view. Los Santos cab drivers have probably seen worse. His leg bounced up and down as he watched the city pass by out the winder. God he was nervous. Ray wasn’t nervous about having to shoot in front of people, it was the people themselves.

 

He hoped they would read him as male. Especially with the incident earlier, he wasn’t feeling too hot about his appearance. Him passing was crucial to his safety. There was no way of knowing how they’d react if they knew. He assumed the worst, though. Criminals aren’t the most accepting of people.

  
  


[We’re on the top floor. -Ramsey]

 

Shit, they lived in a penthouse. Should he have dressed nicer? Hell, he didn’t even own a tie. He slung his rifle back onto his shoulder and entered the elevator and quickly ascending to the top.

He could almost hear his pulse in his ears. It would all be fine. Ramsey seemed nice enough over text, he had nothing to worry about. Outside their door, he could hear chatter and Gavin’s voice among it. He was in the right place.

 

Ray tentatively knocked on the door and shifted his weight from foot to foot. The door opened, and there was Ramsey. He was a heavily tattooed man with tired blue eyes and an amazing mustache. Ray liked him already. The man smiled.

 

“Hey! Great to meet you in person, kid. Come on in.”

 

Ray smiled back and followed him inside. Their penthouse was _huge_ , and was the nicest place that Ray had ever stepped foot in. He spotted Gavin sprawled out on one of the couches with a woman sitting across from him. That was probably Red Queen, their getaway driver.

 

Gavin’s eyes lit up and he rose from his place on the couch.

 

“Brownman!”

 

“Midas.” He acknowledged. Gavin had readily told him what his actual name was, but he assumed it would be inappropriate to use it.

 

“You’ve met _him_ before.” Ramsey sighed. “But anyways, I’m Geoff-” He placed a hand on his chest before gesturing to the woman. “That’s Jack.” She had followed Gavin and gave Ray a little wave.

 

Jack was a taller woman with short red hair and very motherly disposition. Ray wondered how such a contrasting group of people ended up together. Then again, he was nothing like them either.

 

“So he’s our sniper, huh?” Jack turned to Geoff (which apparently was his first name).

 

Ray let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Thank god she called him a “he”.

 

“He’s a cutie. I like him.” She continued.

 

Ray’s relief turned to sudden embarrassment. He wasn’t cute. He killed people for money. His face felt hot and his grip tightened on the strap attached to his gun.

 

Gavin, noticing Ray’s state, snickered quietly. Geoff seemed to ignore it, and continued on.

 

“Alright, so Browman. We’ve seen that you’re a good shot. Everyone in this whole fucking city has.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“The only thing we need to know is how you’d fare under pressure.”

 

Ray hesitated. He was impulsive, animalistic and shaky under pressure.

 

“I’d say I’m alright.”

 

“Well-” Geoff rubbed the back of his neck, looking back at Gavin and Jack.

  
“You brought your gun. Let’s see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the moment, the crew is just Geoff, Jack and Gavin. But don't worry! Michael and Ryan are coming soon.
> 
> Update as of April 17th: The next chapter will be a bit slow coming out. Life isn't so great right now; I'm back and forth between different states and have a lot of schoolwork with summer approaching. I'm not giving up on this fic, though. Chapter 3 will definitely happen.


End file.
